When the Dust Settles
by DME0414
Summary: As the dust begins to settle after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione and Sirius continue the war against those who would like to see the down fall of the Ministry again. AU


**AN Hello, so I have always loved Sirius' character and was devastated when he died, like literally bawled my eyes out. So like any normal crazed HP fan I turned to fan fiction to ease the pain. That's when I was introduced to this lovely pairing. I've always wanted to write a story of these two but never had the right idea, until now. This is AU where Sirius Black returned from the Veil. This is set after the down fall of Voldemort and the aftermath that follows. It might be confusing at first but I promise as the story goes on you'll understand. Also for story sakes, Voldemort was defeated before Christmas.**

_When the Dust Settles_

Chapter One

After the Christmas party, all the frivolity begins to wane. Voldemort is gone, but clean up has to begin—in earnest.

Harry is constantly distracted, to the point that Sirius has actually considered having a personal conversation with him, and that puts more pressure on Hermione to pick up the slack. She's happy to do so; it's been too long since it was just her and Sirius sitting in a room alone after everyone had gone to sleep, discussing ways to bring Voldemort down with the least amount of causalities on their side, with indiscriminate shoulder touches when they found something, the little puffs of air that comes with close laughter.

Priorities get rearranged, but Hermione knows something is off in the cautious way he watches her leave every day, and her tentative jokes, and their quiet warm way around each other. She knows she has to start reconsidering her and Sirius after all that happened in the war. She knows that their actions have been too telling, and that they are in a place that is no longer safe.

Sirius starts realizing that something is about to happen.

Sometimes they want each other more than anything. If they knew how perfectly their fantasies intersected, they might make a move, but in some ways, it might make them even more afraid.

She would like to slide into this lap, hands clutching his collar, her kiss desperate.

He wants to feel up her skirt, to play with the edges of her lacy panties, to taste her freckles on her goose bump skin. 

She wants to curl up next to him, lie in the sun with him contently, only rising to drink tea or grab a new section of the Daily Prophet. She thinks that even if he imagines her in his bed, he would never like that image in the aftermath.

Hermione is the only woman that Sirius can see spread out in his bed in the afternoon, the only woman he considers buying take-out and daisies for, the only woman he'd like to watch a movie with or read a book too. Hermione, with all her drama and jokes, is romance, and that scares him so he keeps it to himself.

He doesn't love her, she doesn't love him. But they know that the undercurrents of love are always running, alongside possibility, in their veins. They know that those rivers formed at their first glance after he returned from the veil, even though neither of them believes in love at first sight.

Hermione considers talking to him, bringing it up and out into the open. On one hand, she has to get it out—both the words (she cares about him more than she should, her loyalty to him is clouding her life, she can't be Hermione without him) and the sexual tension. Unfortunately, before she can make a decision, Olivia Ezra, a former classmate, and lover of Sirius makes a large return into his life. It starts with Olivia's joining of the Order of the Phoenix, and culminates in Hermione finding a thong sticking out of one of Sirius's desk drawers.

"What the hell?" she says, trying to keep her eyes off the lacy red.

He grins. "Just a little fun for the New Year. Won't happen again, promise."

"All of London mourns of the loss of Olivia Ezra's boobs being broadcast out your window."

"Jealous?" he says.

"Right, Sirius, I'm jealous. Let's be serious."

He laughs warmly. "You could have any man in this city. You know."

Later, at her desk, Hermione does something she's never before: ponders their exchange, mulls it over in her head again and again like a school girl. This is when she knows that from her side, the line is being erased.

"Fuck it," she says.

It was him dying and coming back from the Veil that did it for her, Hermione knows. Then with everything happening with the war she could allow herself not to think about the implications of giving in and being at Sirius's side so easily. She doesn't do this, she thinks. She's not easy. But somehow for Sirius she always is.

He's trying with Olivia, because he knows she cares about him and she's sweet. So he keeps trying to make her happy, and be good to her. But Sirius seriously can't believe that the muggle yoga class Olivia picked is the one Hermione frequents too.

"This is weird," he whispers to his girlfriend. "I can't watch Hermione do down dog."

He can though, and he watches each bead of sweat on her neck slide down to stain her sports bra. Her ass is pert and he could cup it while she would grind into him. Her shoulder muscles ripple under strain, and he has the strangest urge to put his hands over them to relax them. Followed by his tongue, to get her going again. He wants to straddle her on top of her purple yoga mat.

Ever since he returned from the Veil and saw the woman she became, he can't help but watch her and want her. And so he ends up following Hermione movements instead of the instructor's.

"Let's go say hi to Hermione," Olivia says cheerfully after the class.

"Sure," Sirius says. 

As Olivia and Hermione exchange hellos, he watches his partner, now in such a different setting than their usual interactions. Her hair is up, her face is a sheen of perspiration and calm. She looks unpainted, unrefined, and so beautiful. He lets himself think it, because he's not sure what else he could think about in that moment.

"So you're trying out yoga now, Sirius?" Hermione asks, turning her smile to him.

"Uh, yeah." A pause. "All the different positions, you know."

She picks up on the banter right away.

"Here I was thinking you knew all the positions like the back of your hand."

Olivia begins to laugh, and it cuts into their repartee so abruptly that Sirius and Hermione both stop to stare. Hermione recovers first.

"I'm glad you got him to come, Olivia. I've been harping on him about stretching his muscles _humanly_ for weeks "

"By the way, Sirius, I was just checking your messages, and Isla called. She wants you to give her a call." Hermione smirks at him, Olivia frowns, and Sirius wonders if everyone in the Wizarding World knows his history.

"Thanks, love," he says, gritting his teeth. I hate you, say his eyes.

"No problem." Her smile is dangerous.

His dreams include both Isla and Olivia, but the one he remembers clearly is Hermione spread wide on her yoga mat, begging for him to make her scream. Twisted around each other, he fucked her hard, until her pale skin was pure red, her hair knotted, her mouth bruised from kisses. It smelled like sweat in the dream, and his bed smelled like sweat and cum in the morning, and it was like he was fifteen again.

Isla's calls annoy her because Hermione isn't a fan of her assistant, Maude, and because Isla, seems to be toeing a strange line with Sirius. Olivia irritates Hermione because she has been taking a more permanent place in Sirius's life—and Hermione can't help but feel pushed out by both Harry and Olivia now. But she hates Astoria Greengrass the most. Even Astoria's innocuous questions seem pointed, aggressive, and insinuating.

"Why is she even here all the time?" Hermione rants to Ginny. "And always at my desk at that."

"Maybe she has the hots for Sirius," Ginny sing-songs over fire whiskey.

"Seriously, shut up." Hermione draining another shot. "But honestly, I think she has it out for me or something."

"You're paranoid."

"Not my fault, after everything that happened in the war, I have full rights to be a little paranoid."

"You're jealous because Sirius thinks she has a nice ass." Ginny frowns. "I'm pretty sure Harry thinks the same thing. Seriously, the only time he shows any interest in anything is when she walks by."

Hermione pats Ginny's shoulder awkwardly. Comfort has always been hard for her, and drunk Hermione knows little else but table dancing and flirting.

"How's Harry doing?" Hermione murmurs.

"You see him more than me." 

This isn't true. More often than not Sirius has ventured to the Auror's Office to talk to his godson, and he has returned shaking his head. What Hermione knows is that Harry isn't doing well following his defeat of Voldemort, and his fight with Ginny hasn't made anything better. 

It's problematic not only because Sirius (and hell, Hermione too) loves the kid and doesn't want him to suffer, but also because they need him to protect the new image of the Wizarding World from threats right now and start winning against other pureblood idealist who are still trying to take over the Ministry like before.

Ginny drains the shot. "Let's not talk about it. You and Sirius are way more important and interesting."

"You give us way too much credit." 

"Do I? It's been three years since his return from the veil. You two were paired together in the Order to go on missions for two years, and now your partners at the Ministry for the Minister" She pauses, giggles drunkenly and then nods. "He was a mess when you went down that one time in Paris, and pushed you out of the way, almost taking a killing curse for himself in the Battle of Hogwarts, what does that say?"

Hermione doesn't respond.

"Look, Hermione, you need to do something ridiculous. Get Sirius's attention."

Hermione downs her shot too, and then orders another two. "Specifics, Ginny, specifics."

"Hm…a dirty text?"

"Too obvious."

"A dirty picture?"

"Too dangerous."

Ginny taps the table with her fingers. "Okay, how about a mildly suggestive picture that was meant for someone else that you accidentally sent to him?"

Perhaps it's not the most creative plan, but it's better than the other things that Ginny has suggested, and Hermione is drunk, and Ginny is desperate for a little fun. Hermione agrees.

They decide that a picture of Hermione' sex hair with a suggestive message will suffice, particularly because Ginny says, "You do have the most beautiful hair, Hermione," and Hermione can't exactly resist a nice compliment.

They take the picture in the bathroom of the bar. Hermione smudges her lipstick semi-tastefully, and musses her hair up, until it looks like she's been giving a man intense head.

"I'd want you," Ginny comments, and they collapse into giggles.

Hermione captions the photo: Hope you get to this sight in real life sometime, preferably between your legs.

Three minutes later—

Sirius: I hope so too. Where are you?

Hermione laughs, passes the phone to Ginny, and then responds: God, sorry, that wasn't supposed to be for you.

Sirius: Lucky I got it anyway.

Hermione: It was for Harry. Cheer him up, you know. I'm at Tres Wizards.

Sirius: Ugh, seriously? You have no taste, Sweetheart.

Hermione: I could taste you.

Sirius: Harry'll be jealous.

Hermione: Olivia too.

There's a long pause in which Hermione downs another shot, somewhat out of nervousness. He'll know she's playing, but it's further than it's been taken ever, and bringing up Olivia was probably a bad move. Finally—

Sirius: I'll let her be pissed for a night.

His next text comes quickly: Have a good night with Ginny, but I don't want to see you too hung-over tomorrow. Cheers. And feel free to come over whenever.

She sends him a winking face, and then puts her phone back in her bag, satisfied.

"That'll do it," Ginny says, as they close the tab. "You'll have his attention now."

All she gets out of it is a large grin the next morning and a coffee that he gives her smugly.

Luckily, things are better than alright for a while. The minute she brushes her hair out of her eyes, his attention goes straight to her mouth.

But despite her games, Sirius seems too enamored with his waltz between Isla and Olivia to really pay her the attention Hermione deserves (and craves). It's never been like this before. She knows she's integral. She knows that Sirius sleeps with women who aren't her. But to see him volley between two, neither of them Hermione, makes her feel strangely useless and unwanted.

"So," Astoria says, "tell me about yourself, Sirius."

She stretches her long legs out, and Sirius is a man and he looks at them. He lets his eyes travel up her torso, reaches her breasts and the ends of her brown hair. He focuses his eyes on hers, and smirks.

"I'm the best thing to ever happen to the Ministry," Sirius says. "I think that's all you really need to know, Astoria Greengrass."

"You have something against questions, Sirius? Or me? Because you haven't been very cooperative."

He moves forward, eyes locked on her. "Why don't you tell me why you're here, and then we can talk about cooperation."

Astoria inspects her nails.

"Nothing to say?" Sirius says.

"As you well know, Sirius, you and the Renegade are about to go head to head for the Ministry, I'm simply here to keep this little relationship between the Renegade and The Ministry post Voldemort amicable." She reaches out and strokes his tie. "You understand, don't you?"

"You're awful at bullshit," Sirius says, stepping away from her.

"Alright," Astoria says, leaning her head to the side sweetly. "Let's talk about something less upsetting. How about that pretty little bird out there?"

"Hermione?" he scoffs. "What about her?"

"Well, tell me about her. Office gossip says you've been close since you returned. Also that you have a secret love child together, but I'm not sure if I should believe that one."

He can't help but grin. "Yeah, I keep her around. She's kind of a lucky charm."

But when he looks at Astoria, he realizes that he has said that the wrong thing. That Astoria Greengrass smile is a little bit malicious and a little bit knowing.

He stops and takes her in, sitting calmly in his desk chair. The dusky rose color of her dress. Her profile in the dim January sun.

"Someone give you a promotion?"

She barely glances at him. "Someone should."

He doubles back to close his door and then returns to sit on the edge of his desk. They contrast: his dark suit and her light femininity. They've never been at such odds before, even when fighting.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Look," she says, "I'm not doing this. I'm not penciling in your dinner dates, while fielding Isla's calls. I'm not going to put time in your schedule for Astoria Greengrass. I'm your partner, I'm not here to schedule your sex life. That's not what I was hired to do."

"Okay," he says, somewhat baffled.

"You could say you're sorry," she says

"I could. And you know I'm not going to say it." He fiddles with a pen. "I respect what you do,

Hermione, but things are getting complicated and I need your help juggling all of these commitments."

She purses her lips. "Something's going on, Sirius. I don't like it."

He knows she means in the Ministry, but he knows something's just going on between them too. It just is.

It rarely snows that January. Instead, Hermione finds herself trekking through slushy piles of rain and sleet. When she comes home, her toes feel frozen and her boots are leaking.

_February_

They barely spend time together outside of work anyway, but it begins to feel like they never speak except through owls and memos.

They get close to making the whole tower fall once. On a Saturday.

Hermione is on her way to Sirius's apartment to go over Hogwarts rebuilding plans. It's been a long week, and this is the only day they have to do this, even though technically they're off pay roll. He promised her take-out sushi and lots of tempura for the trouble, though.

Somehow February has retained the same high temperatures as January but that doesn't matter when the whole sky suddenly starts pouring. Coatless, unprepared Hermione really has no idea where it comes from. She looks up, the sky is dark, the rain is falling, and suddenly her blouse is ruined and she's soaked.

The problem is that somehow most London citizens have taken courses in meteorology and know when rain is coming. Those unfortunate ones who haven't, never seem to get their wands out at the right time to produce the correct charms to stay dry. And Hermione just keeps getting wetter as she stands on her street corner waiting for the night bus. She eventually goes inside an establishment to Floo.

She looks like a mess at his door this time, which is why her frown is so affixed when he opens the door.

"Hey," he says.

"This is the worst!" she spits at him. "Look at me!"

"Why didn't you apparate?"

She stops in his living room, turns and gives her best glare. But he isn't really interested in that, she realizes, and in the same moment she realizes that her shirt is sticking to her black and lacy bra.

"Sirius!" she snaps.

He drags his eyes up to her face. "Do you want a shower?"

She knows, immediately, that to accept would be dangerous. Stripping of her clothes in his space, wearing something that would undoubtedly be his or a past tryst's, losing the veneer of work and veering into private territory—all of that would be a poor choice. But she's freezing, so she nods quickly.

"Towels in the closet," Sirius says. "You want a sweatshirt?"

"Anything."

His grin grows lecherous, but in a good-natured way, and she rolls her eyes at him, trying to ignore the growing trepidation in her belly.

She fantasizes (again, like the she does all the time these days, it's too distracting) about all the ways it could happen.

She could be clad only in her towel, and he could ambush her and rub the droplets of water off her shoulder.

She could sit too close to him after the shower, his hands could brush the hem of the sweatshirt and that could be the end of it.

They could just look at each other, breathe the same air between their mouths.

Nothing happens of course. He has a brief spread out in front of him when she returns, and she sits far from him with an orange highlighter and gets to work immediately. There is no time to stare at each other or let his curling lips get to her or cross her legs so that the sweatshirt hitches up inappropriately.

The sweatshirt comes home with her, though. Only because her clothes are still wet.

He used to like quiet moments with Kingsley Shacklebolt. The talks on his couches that were about the future and their aspirations. Lately, these talks have been stressful and full of their anxieties about each others' direction.

Today he watches him carefully.

"Thank you for helping me out with Renegade."

"Did you expect anything else?" he asks. "Especially with the Ministry in this state?"

He can't help but be defensive, despite his calm demeanor.

"Don't sass me, Black," he says, but it's mirthful.

"So where are we at?" he asks quietly. "We're doing better?"

"The Wizarding World is happy," Kingsley tells him.

"But."

"We're not out of the danger by any measure."

"Astoria Greengrass," he says.

He re-crosses his legs. "You've noticed that her intentions seem less than admirable. It's difficult for me to intimidate her. She has some protection that keeps her from worrying about her position. But I don't believe she's working for the Renegades, Sirius. There would be no reason for her to be here."

"We're bulletproof," Sirius says. "Don't worry. With Voldemort gone, we're going to build right back up to where we were and further than that."

They sit in silence for a moment. He stares at the glass table in front of them, and Sirius can tell that he's still nervous about their future.

"Where are we with Ron?" he asks finally.

"I see no reason to fire him, Sirius. I am keeping an eye out, of course. I just hope he can somehow realign himself with us."

"I'm never going to come close to trusting him after all that, Kingsley Shacklebolt. No goddamned way."

"You trusted Hermione again," Shacklebolt comments tartly.

He can't help but stiffen, even though Kingsley cares little for the teasing yet desperate need between him and his partner. "That was different. You know that."

"Just keep your eye on the ball, Sirius. Personal issues do not have a place in the new Ministry. You might want to tell yourgodson too."

"Yes, sir," he says, wondering how much Kingsley actually knows and how much is conjecture. "You worry too much, Shacklebolt. We're fixing this."

It is and isn't strange to run into Hermione when she is out with some friends at a wizarding bar. They don't necessarily run in the same circles, but they have the same club tastes and fine wine palates. And most of her favorite places are places that he has taken her to.

But somehow they've always avoided each other, their schedules never match up. He knows her friends by casual passing in conversation. She really only knows about the important people, the ones who owls the office. It doesn't make them any less close, it just helps them keep some distance.

He can't help but call her beautiful in his mind as her white sweater clings to her frame. He can't help but stare at the man's hand on her lower back. He can't help but force a smile.

"Love," he says, "it's nice to see you here."

She's blushing, he can tell even in the dark. It's as if he's caught her in some way even though—well, they have no obligations to each other, and he has Olivia after all. But his eyes are still fixated on that hand, the finger caressing her skin under the sweater.

"Hey, Sirius." Her voice isn't soft, but it's too passive to really seem like hers.

There's an awkward silence, and then he says, "Well, Sweetheart, introduce me to your friends, why don't you?" He grins at them. "I'm Sirius, Hermione's partner at the Ministry."

Someone in the group eyes him appreciatively, and sticks a hand out.

"Bella," the woman says, "and boy have we heard things about you."

"All good, I know."

She just winks, but he can't get excited, all because of that hand on Hermione' back.

"Bella and Colly," Hermione says, gesturing. "And these two are Kale and Oliver. And this," she stops, smiles, "is Theodore."

"Theodore," Sirius says, shaking hands. "Nice to meet you all. And unfortunately I'm going to have to say goodbye in the same breath. Places to be, you know."

Hermione cocks her head, "Sure you don't want a glass with us, Sirius?"

"I'm not one to interrupt, love."

They stare at each other for a moment, and he realizes that this feels like his last chance. The way he is feeling, the guttural anxiety at Theodore's hand, is a last ditch attempt at letting his want for Hermione out. He wonders if Hermione feels this way when Olivia links her fingers with his, and hopes, selfishly, that it is.

And at the same time, he feels that she will give up at this moment. That all the dancing around each other is just too much. That the fights between them, that the lust between them, that the stares are just too much. And he just can't stand that.

Why are they at this point, he wonders. Why couldn't they go on the way they had been for years, never acting?

It's because they are inevitable, and he's known it since the first moment he accidentally touched her.

And because they are inevitable, she won't be able to give up at all. Neither of them will, and it kills them.

Circles, he thinks. Him and Hermione go in circles. Sometimes he wants to halt the circle. To become a straight line. To go to the end, the two of them together, to make it there, one point to the next.

And the fact that he realizes this, propels him to embrace it.

He leans over and kisses her cheek goodbye, ignores how Theodore's hand tightens on her, and goes home to Olivia, who senses his bad mood and leaves him alone.

On Valentine's Day they are smeared with chocolate, and Theo's mouth licks at her breast, and his fingers smudge at the chocolate already on her skin. There are chocolate fingerprints on her thighs.

It should be sinful dark chocolate, but when they wash each other in the shower, she can only consider words like convenience and missing.

Sirius's kiss still burns on her cheek.

Harry comes to work sick, a fever wracking him along with a cough.

Ginny owls Hermione her concern, and Hermione goes to check on him during a quick break.

He stares up at her with glassy eyes, and she can tell just by looking at him that he's burning up.

"Come with me," Hermione demands, and takes him straight into Sirius's office.

"You overworked him," Hermione accuses.

Sirius takes in his godson who has struggled to and finally collapsed on the sofa. "What the hell, Harry?"

The boy shrugs. "I guess I just haven't been sleeping that well. I had to make up all that work from last month."

Hermione sits next to him and places a cool hand on his forehead. She finds herself stroking his hair.

She is supposed to be on Ginny's side, to see Harry as the enemy, but she can't, when the poor kid is so sick and hot and guilty. Harry leans in to her.

"I threw up this morning," he says, squeezing his eyes shut. "You might not want to sit so close."

"You need to go home, Harry," Hermione says softly. Sirius is still watching the two of them, and he slowly begins to nod.

"Yes," Sirius says, "you can do the work later. I won't have you throwing up at your desk. I'm not that bad of a boss."

Harry tries to crack a smile, but is still half-collapsed on Hermione's shoulder.

"I'm going to get Lee to pick up some soup for you too," Hermione tells him. "You need to rest. Lots of fluids." She pauses, considers, then: "Do you need me to come over after work?"

"Nah," Harry mumbles, the sleep evident in his voice. "I can take care of myself."

There's silence, and then an, "I'm sorry, Sirius."

Sirius stiffens and then forces himself forward so that he's right in front of Harry. "Look, kid, all I want is for you to get better. No apologies. You get sick."

"But the work—I'm just—I'm not doing my job right. I know Shacklebolt's pissed, and I've gotta get my act together…"

"You're doing your job fine, Harry. Get better. I'll call you later."

"Alright," Hermione says, pulling him to his feet and ending the pity party. "Go get your things, I just Floo called Lee. He'll be here soon."

Harry grins, and he's really no longer lucid.

"I love you guys," he says. "You're like parents sometimes."

Hermione freezes. She knows that for him to compare her and Sirius to his dead parents means something. That he must really see them as a twosome, a team, a pair.

The thought terrifies her and makes her feel warm—to be the half of a real pair with Sirius. Not just the obvious friendship that they have. Two halves that create a whole.

"Go on," she whispers to Harry, but remains in the doorway, watching Sirius.

Sirius licks his bottom lip uncertainly and looks back until an owl drops several important looking letters on his desk, and they're back to work, no longer surrogate parents, two halves of a whole, but Hermione and Sirius partners working to keep the Wizarding World together.

It's a conversation that has to happen, but Hermione isn't sure she ever really wanted it to happen.

She's staring out the window of his office, watching lights turn off the buildings across, when he begins to speak.

"Olivia thinks there's something going on between us."

"Well, she among many others who were in the Order," Hermione says, still watching the lights. "And everyone thought it after that little stunt that Ron played, so I guess I don't blame her. Guess you should assure her that there isn't though."

"I tried," Sirius says, and she can hear him pouring scotch behind her. "She says I just don't get it yet."

"Sirius, I am not in love with you, and I don't want to keep having this conversation with you!"

She whirls around finally, only to see him extending a tumbler of scotch, which she snatches up and downs.

"Easy," he says. "That's good stuff, you know."

"Sirius."

"It just got me thinking." He straightens his tie, checks his sleeves. He is nervous. "It got me thinking—what would have to change for us to do this?"

She moves away from the window and goes towards his record collection. Her fingers touch the spines of the record holders. Her mouth is pursed.

"I don't know, Sirius. I just—this is us, and we can't go back to this if we made a move."

"We went back once," he says, spreading his hands out wide. "I kissed you and we could still work together."

"Not in the way that we used to work together! I—God, Sirius I can't even touch you by accident anymore. It just feels so—I'm not innocent anymore about us. I know what we could be, all because of that goddamned kiss and I can't have us change anymore than it already has because I don't want to be apart from you, Sirius, I just don't."

He touches her hands then, his fingers linking in hers. His thumbs stroke her knuckles.

"How does that feel, Hermione?"

She pulls him into a hug; their bodies together feel like a sunrise.

"I can't," she says

**AN Good, Bad, Confusing. Loved it? Hated it? I'm dying to know**


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